What We Can't Have
by Wolkov
Summary: If one was to alter the course of Fate, what does become of that person? Welcome to the story of Farah Dovaros and how she fights for survival in this harsh world. Yes, even if it means battling a cold and ruthless assassin who, despite his frosting attitude, strokes the flames of her inner desires.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **_Okay. I know. Another fanfic. My mind just keeps on working, I cant stop D: Anyways, if you go to my profile, I gave a brief info 'bout this story._

_I'm a fan of the Assassins Creed, and decided to write a story for one for one of the characters. And it is zzz one and only Altair. Read on and enjoy!_

What We Can't Have

_Order_.

Everything is in order, from the grandness of the Universe to the complexity of the cells. Nothing could break their built structure, it just goes according to an already written plan.

So what if I told you what everything strived for could be breakable? For example, Fate. Could one perhaps make a mistake that could alter its direction, the conclusion of what was to happen? Could one even dare to _try_?

How could one possibly perform such an act? And if one, dare I say, does alter the direction of which Fate has chosen for us, does it still mean it is going _according _to _the _plan?

The things that are meant to take place _will _take place, it is simply inevitable. And yet... could it still be _broken_?

Chapter One

1190, Damascus, Syria

"Farah!" the rough voice of a male echoed through the walls of the room, maybe even rattling them by its ferocity. It shook Farah's insides, that was for sure. The girl quivered in fear and retreated deeper into the shadows.

Please, she begged. Please somebody help me. But, like always, no one did.

No one would.

"You dare disobey me? Me!" the male roared, fury laced in his tone. Farah covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the sobs. Loud and heavy footsteps marched her direction, and all Farah could do at the moment was pray that he wouldn't find her. Please, please, please.

An amused grunt escaped the lips of the man, and she, in the dead silence, slowly brought her knees up against her chest. The room was eerily quiet, even the shouts of the man, and it triggered uneasiness in her. Where was-

The features of the man suddenly came into view, his black eyes gleaming with demise. Farah shrieked in panic and scrambled back, her spine hitting the back of the desk she hid under.

"Found you," her father roughly said and latched onto her arm. She instantly started fighting back, her legs shooting forth and her body flailing like a fish out of water.

Her father dragged her out from under the table, and kicked her hard on the stomach, provoking her tiny body to roll across the floor. It instantly erupted in waves of unbearable pain, and all Farah could do at the moment was to not start crying-a weakness her father loathed.

He stomped up to her and grabbed her by the hair, emitting a whimper from her. He dragged her to her shaking feet and forced her to face him sideways. "You will marry Edwardo, understand sweet daughter?"

Farah closed her eyes at the way he sneered the words 'sweet daughter', and felt her throat tighten.

Edwardo de Pablo, the man twice her age she had to marry. But she wouldn't. By God, she wouldn't dare. Not was he quite older than her but he also was the literal meaning of a human pig.

From the information she had secretly gathered, Farah found out the vile things that man operated behind his overused public status. He raped his slaves and stole from his people. He slaughtered innocents and it mattered not to him if they were women, children or even old. He was vile, and he was disgusting. And she was to marry the epitome of Hell?

Never.

Not now, not today, not ever. She was her own and she would stand up for herself-because no one else did and will-even if her father was to beat her to the very ground. If she was to marry de Pablo, Farah would be going from abused to an abuser. Not to mention all the unlawful things he'd do to her. He was far from husband material, and she was far too proud to level herself with a nefarious being such as he.

"I don't," she as last croaked out, "And I never will."

"Is that so?" Her father literally spat on her cheeks with the force of his gritted words, and tightened his grip on her hair. Farah offered no response.

"Then let me show you the errors of your way," he sneered into her ear. And so he did. Farah tightly closed her eyes and held back her cries as he beat her for five long, torturous hours.

-x-

1190, Masyaf

Altair Ibn La-Ahad stood before his master, Al Mualim, and awaited for orders. His master calmly gazed up from the piles of paper scattered across his desk and at his student, forming a short nod to acknowledge his presence.

"Your next target is a Templar from Europe, Edwardo de Pablo." Al Mualim informed him. Straight to business, just like Altair preferred it.

"What are his crimes?" He asked.

"He stands between the Brotherhood and Peace. De Pablo steals from his people, and when they're unable to pay him, he turns them into slaves and sells them for money. He's aware of our just Creed and desires to destroy it."

"And destroy his body I will. Where does he reside?"

Al Mualim clasped his hands behind his back. "Damascus. He has a palace in the rich district. Rafiq shall fill you in with the details."

The assassin formed a stiff nod, and turned on his heels to depart.

"Bring justice to the Brotherhood, Altair." His master calmly called out from behind him. And bring justice he would. He turned to a corner and instantly vanished from sight.

-x-

1190, Damascus, Syria

"Oh, Altair!" Rafiq Kadar greeted him as Altair invaded the Assassin's Bureau through the roof.

"Safety and peace, brother." He greeted as strode inside.

Rafiq was a retired assassin, and thus he spent his quality time selling and purchasing Persian carpets whilst keeping an eye on the city for any Templar acts.

Altair walked up to the wooden counter and informed Rafiq of his target. "He is almost always guarded. He rarely leaves his palace, and does his deeds at night. I have learned that he will sell slaves tonight at the poor district. That is where I will take his life." The Rafiq wrote the information down in his black book of records, and handed him a pure feather to mark.

Altair took it, placing it inside a pocket at his side.

"You did well, Altair. You are welcome to rest here until the time of your mission," the Dai kindly offered. He was an old man-nonetheless dangerous as any assassin should be-and thus Altair respectfully declined his kind gesture. Rafiq nodded, not pressing any further.

"May fortune favour your blade, brother."

With that prayer, Altair departed back into the hectic city to gain more valuable information on his target. Since it was day time, he was eminent the gossipers were having the time of their lives.

-x-

1190, Damascus, Syria

"Lady Farah, at least take your cloak!" her servant called out from behind Farah's running figure.

"I think after what I've been through, I'll survive without my cloak, Sarah." She shot back as she threw open the front doors. Sarah fell silent behind her, and Farah didn't hesitate stepping out of the palace grounds.

"Farah, where are you going? Come-" her mother asked but was interrupted by Farah releasing a, "Mother, please!"

Her mother fell into silence as well, giving her daughter enough time to sniff back the burning tears. "Come back soon, my dearest..." her mother softly murmured.

Farah quickened her pace and fled through the open black gates of the palace. She had yet again protested, and her father had yet again beat her. Her mother was powerless to stop him, and rightly so. Every time she did, her father would beat her after he had taken care of Farah. Her mother would swell and bruise and bleed, and Farah would watch her mother suffer for her crimes.

Well, crimes in her father's eyes.

That is why her mother no longer interfered, no longer voice her opinions fearing she'd lay in bed for weeks to come. But Dominica would cry for her daughter's suffering, she would pray for her well-being and, watching her own husband abuse their own flesh and blood, she'd wish death upon him.

What would happen to Farah if she was to marry Edwardo for political reasons other than love? Would he abuse her, treat her below him, then after Farah has given birth, beat her child like her father did her, and she'd have to helplessly watch it happen?

The answer to that came as easily as breathing: yes. He would ruin her and she would quiver in fear just at the aura of his presence.

At the moment, Farah feared him not. She loathed him and used the energy of her hate towards him as her strength. She would fight tooth and nail for her life. Her freedom. They would not take that away from her, she would not let them.

Farah barely left the safety of the palace grounds, and she did so with a servant and a few guards. Now, she was alone, Farah thought, bewildered. Now, she was... free.

Not quite believing her eyes, she twirled around and took in the beauty of Damascus. It had been six months since her arrival here from Europe due to her father's job, and she loved the freshness of this city. Unlike the cold, frosty Europe, the climate here was warn, sunny and blissfully ravishing.

The sun bathed her with its shimmering rays and caused her to sigh out in tranquillity. Now this was life.

Suddenly giggling, Farah once more twirled around, and abruptly halted. She brought her fingers to her lips and brushed them across the soft, pink flesh. Did she just... giggle?

Farah barely laughed. Hell, even smiled. Now that she had freely let one escape was too astonishing to her. Gradually, her lips lifted again and Farah soon found herself smiling. She literally loved this warming feeling. This... freedom.

Give it up? No, never. Now that she had gotten a brief taste of it, she was suddenly thirsty for more.

Watching the civilians of Damascus go on with their daily routines-shopping, selling, gazing and with their kids playing-Farah leisurely blend into the crowd and disappeared.

It wasn't after hours of hours of wandering, laughing and, yes, even playing with children, reading them a book she bought from the Souk under the chilling shade of a tree, Farah decided to at last sit down on a shaded bench.

Leaning back and resting her weight on her palms, she tilted her head back and exhaled deeply. What a hectic day it was today...

Feeling her bare feet-she gave away her shoes to a poor lady, knowing she'd need it more than Farah-brush against the warm, rugged sandy ground, Farah lazily smiled.

She never wanted this day to end. And prayed it would stretch as long as it possibly could.

A sudden welcoming melodious voice broke the silence, the sound calling out loud and clear.

Farah hummed with the melodious tune of the man uttering it-even if she didn't know what he was saying. But, spending her time in this holy city, Farah knew it was a call for some kind of prayer for the civilians. It boomed across the land and the skies five times a day, and each time the civilians obediently responded.

They'd even close their shops, rush to the sphered building that held the prayer, and would stand in straight rows next to each other, their shoulders brushing at the closeness. People never did that in Europe, it was... intriguing watching it happen before her eyes.

But what Farah found utterly mesmerizing about it was the fact that if there was no space in that sphered building, people would easily perform their prayer outside-on the very ground itself. After they were done, everyone would greet the other with a smile and go on with their daily routines-until it called for prayer again.

The soothing voice of the man ended, causing silence to greet her ears. The pedestrians shuffled before her, some walking with their friends, some with their partners, and others with their families and children.

Farah spotted an average man suddenly pick up his naughty boy, earning a giggle from the infant, and placed him on his broad shoulders. He held the child's hands and gazed up with a smile. The child gazed down at him with obvious adoration and love. His wife chuckled and patted her husband's back, which earned her a kiss on the forehead from him. Farah could almost imagine the female purring in content.

Her chest constricted painfully, and Farah couldn't stop the pout that tugged at her lips.

I want something like that, she thought. A loving family and a husband who adored you, the atmosphere filled with mercy, love and bliss. As if they were a dream she could never hope to receive, Farah lowered her eyes.

The civilians leisurely started to lessen, the streets emptying by each passing moment. Sighing, Farah glanced up, smiled at the blue sky, angled her head to the side, and suddenly stilled.

There, right beside her, sat a man cloaked all in white. She slightly shifted. He didn't seem like he was in a hurry. Half of his face was shaded by the hood swung over his head, and all kinds of weapons-deadly weapons-decorated his muscular form.

He possessed a sword swinging at his side, and a thick steeled blade strapped at his back with the support of brown leather. Other styles of blades protectively hugged his form, from the broad lines of his shoulders to the angles of his hips.

Farah gulped at the heavily guarded man before her, and hastily looked away. Then found herself gazing back up at him, his peculiar vibrant aura luring her eyes to him like a deadly mermaid would a sailor.

He sat with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin positioned atop clasped hands. He stared down rather than forth, and sat in such an eerie silence, Farah swore he looked dead if it weren't for the even rise and fall of his shoulders.

With her eyes skidding down, she witnessed his cloak depart from the sides, revealing black slacks and knee high warrior boots. He possessed a knife strapped to the side of his boot, and it gleamed dangerously sharp when the sun caressed its form.

Brows furrowing, Farah glanced up at him and held her gaze. Why was he armed as if he were going to annihilate an entire army? Was he some kind of bandit? A guard? But the latter seemed impossible for guards wore a different attire. And if he were a bandit, why wasn't he in hiding? Why would he display himself to the public, for all to see? Hence, if he was not a bandit, then who was he?

Did he have freedom? Farah found herself suddenly wondering.

He looked like someone who had freedom. Hell, he radiated an aura of supremacy. He almost seemed... unstoppable.

With just a swing from that sharp sword, Farah was sure pockets would be emptying. She knew she would empty hers.

As though feeling a pair of eyes on him, the man's head jerked up and he, as slowly as one can be, angled his head to Farah's direction. She couldn't stop the sharp gasp that suddenly escaped her lips, and most importantly, couldn't look away.

The male now rested his elbow on his right knee, his left hand on his thigh, the wrist flicked backwards so as to permit the sharp angle of his left elbow to point directly at her figure. He slightly leaned backwards, allowing his shadowed gaze to study her.

Farah blinked at him, rather admiring his sloped nose, the tip angled stubbornly, but even that complimented his muscularity. Her eyes dragged down to his full, luscious lips, and she had to swallow down deeply to keep her eyes directed away.

He had a scar marking the right side of his mouth, cutting through the thin specks of beard, and narrowing down to the curve of his stubborn chin. He possessed a sharp jawline and an angular face, almost angelic with a mix of deadly.

His skin was sun-kissed, indicating that he did, indeed, spend more time outdoors rather than indoors. Yes, free indeed.

But even with what was revealed of his face, she could not make out his entire face due to his angular hood. A shame.

Farah stared forth more than it was welcome and, noticing her mistake, hastily gazed down. Still feeling the male's penetrating eyes on her figure, she gradually lifted her lashes up and formed a friendly smile.

"Selam," she said, smile never faltering. Farah was learning the Arabic language, knowing it'd be easier to communicate by herself rather than bringing a translator with her every time she stepped outside. The word meant peace, and was almost instantly returned to the spoken party.

But this man did not return it her greeting, no. He examined her further, almost memorizing every curve in her face, and then simply glared away. _Glared_. Even with his eyes hidden behind the arched hood, Farah still felt the heaviness of it, and slightly retreated back her gaze.

Had she done something wrong? Was Selam not the right word to use while greeting someone? Still in doubt, Farah thought on.

The man simply rose to his feet and strode away. Even his stride presented unmistakable dominance and authority. He left an air of confidence in his wake, and Farah found herself slightly envying the man.

Clearly by the way civilians stepped out of his way like he was some kind of lethal weapon, she acutely knew someone like her father or, she hissed, Edwardo de Pablo would quiver in fear before him.

And she really wanted them to quiver in fear of her.

Watching the man walk away, she didn't know how or when, Farah lost absolute sight of him. Shrugging, she got back to enjoying the city's tranquillity.

-x-

1190, Damascus, Syria

Altair stared down at the people below from atop a rooftop. He was crouched low, the position blending him well with the darkness of the night despite his silvery outfit.

"Were you followed?" a rough male voice asked Edwardo. The said man grabbed his overflowing belly and scratched it, saying, "Not in this life time." The buyer of the slaves nodded, giving his guards the order to take hold of the captives.

Edwardo opened his fat palm and awaited for the cash to flow down like rain.

Altair gave the scenery below a sharp look over, taking every individual and outcome into account. With his trained eyes, he gazed back at Edwardo, who was receiving his promised gold, and at the guards.

With de Pablo now distracted with the cash, the buyer with the slaves and the guards by positioning them in a straight line, the assassin knew it was the right time to act. And so he did, ever so gracefully.

Legs sprinting into motion, Altair confidently leapt down, his fall emitting no sound. When his feet made contact with the ground, his mind already calculated how everything would take place. Moving with skill and flexing with the shadows, he mercilessly aimed two guards in the spine with his blades. With a thud, they fell.

As did the other two who had witnessed the act.

And the other four.

"Assassin!" one guard at last let out, spotting Altair emerge from the shadows. But by then, it was rather too late. Altair silence him with a punch to the throat, evidently crushing his trachea. The man gurgled, and the man fell.

Acting faster than the blink of an eye, he withdrew two more daggers and nailed six of the guards out. Still clasping the two daggers in his hands, he turned his attention on his target.

While Edwardo hid behind his four guards, the buyer hid behind his five. Angling his head at the challenge, Altair allowed a slight devilish curve to lift the corners of his lips.

He stole a step forward, and all the guards gripped their swords tightly. Without squandering another second, he jumped high, kicked against the surface of a wall, and redirected his movements to the guards poised before the buyer. Feet skimming across the rugged surface, he pushed forth, using the pressure against the wall to his advantage.

When two of the guards leapt towards him, Altair flew above them, and flipped mid-air. Landing behind them, he instantly daggered them straight in their necks, drawing warm blood.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Edwardo and his guards attempting to escape, and acted quickly. Sending the other thee guards of the buyer to the Afterlife, Altair sprinted forth, jumping atop a dead body.

He rose high in the air, right above the buyer's shocked face, and whipped out his Hidden Blade.

_Shink_.

Roughly landing atop his enemies chest, he pierced his sharp blade into his neck, sending them both to the ground. Sheathing back his Hidden Blade, Altair straightened. He took hold of the key and tossed it at one of the slaves-who were watching him with awe, fear and gratitude.

Squandering no more of his time, he bolted into action, running after Edwardo's escaping form. Withdrawing two more blades from his boots, he nailed two of the guards to the very guard. They shrieked out in pain, and gradually fell to their deaths.

From all the way there, Altair could make out the harsh panting's of his enemy, Edwardo. He spotted his belly jiggle up and down due to the force of his run, and leapt up on a building. He climbed fast to the roof and quickened his pace.

It wasn't that hard to reach Edwardo. Or the two remaining guards. While de Pablo ran on land, he run alongside him atop the roofs, his sharp gaze never leaving his enemies.

"Where did he go?" de Pablo yelled, holding up his belly as he escaped. The two guards tossed a glance back, didn't see the assassin's approaching form, and released relieved laughs.

"We lost him!" One guard naively informed. Edwardo sighed loudly, gradually decreasing his pace. Altair took that moment to act and jumped down from the roof, never once slowing down, and never once showing any hesitation as he cut the throats of the two guards open.

They silently fell to their knees, and then their death, only leaving their corrupt leader standing. But not for long. Altair whipped out his Hidden Blade and aimed.

But before he could, Edwardo released a sudden amused laughter. The assassin paused midway, his brows furrowing.

"Oh, assassin," de Pablo chuckled, gradually turning to face him. "What a little, naïve assassin you are."

Altair instantly grabbed de Pablo by the collar and drew his fat, sweaty face closer to his. "The only little thing here is the meaning of your life, Templar. Now, let me introduce my blade to your throat."

Edwardo's grin widened. "Did you really think I'd come unprepared for such a lovely night?"

"What do you mean?" Altair questioned. Edwardo chuckled louder. Then, everything clicked. Enemy. Ambush. Before Altair could dodge the coming attack, de Pablo abruptly gripped his wrists and kept him rooted in place. Altair sneered.

The sharp point of an arrow slammed into his left shoulder, causing muscles to tear and hot blood to ooze out. Edwardo suddenly released him and stomped backwards, his ever present grin widening his red, fat cheeks. Altair growled low.

"How foolish," he said. "I expected more from an assassin. But I'll give it to you, you pest. You did well killing off the guards and freeing the slaves, because now I've enough hate to slaughter you. Hence, I won't. Enjoy the poison, assassin." De Pablo snickered, splaying his arms apart. "I hope it does _justice_ to your body."

Altair ground his teeth together as he broke the arrow's end, tossing the stick aside. His vision slowly started to blur, and his knees weakened, the poison taking its toll.

Grabbing his blade, he dizzily targeted de Pablo's figure. A sudden sheer of light from atop a building instantly caught his attention and, without a moment's thought, he threw his blade across the air and buildings and into the shadowed corner.

After a heartbeat, a body slumped all the way down to the ground.

"Oh, you got him." Edwardo provided with a sigh.

Gritting his teeth to stay awake and kill Edwardo de Pablo once and for all, Altair took a few steps towards him. His enemy shook his head and began walking away, never stopping but rather whistling an uneven tune into the breezy night.

Altair's vision completely blurred and his knees suddenly gave out. With a loud thud, he fell face-forward to the ground, his shoulder and body burning to dangerous degrees.

His lids slowly started to close, and as much as he fought to stay awake, his body refused to obey him. His muscles froze and, after a few heartbeats, his eyelids finally drifted shut, and he was sucked into oblivion.

Altair Ibn La-Ahad, the grand assassin and Al Mualim's favourite student, had failed his mission. He allowed an enemy to escape. He, the son of Umar Ibn La-Ahad, had weakened to a shaming point and let a Templar run loose.

With rage unlike any other, Altair roared at the deafening oblivion, and fell into the depths of Hell.

-x-

**Please review! Thanks! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**:_ I included religion in the first chapter, seeing as how it could give you a brief image of the time of that era to you readers. Here is the second chapter, enjoy. _

_I do not own anything, just this story and the fan made characters. I hope you all enjoy it! :) _

What We Can't Have

_Order. _

Everything is in order, from the grandness of the Universe to the complexity of the cells. Nothing could break their built structure, it just goes according to an already written plan.

So what if I told you what everything strived for could be breakable? For example, Fate. Could one perhaps make a mistake that could alter its direction, the conclusion of what was to happen? Could one even dare to _try_?

How could one possibly perform such an act? And if one, dare I say, does alter the direction of which Fate has chosen for us, does it still mean it is going _according_ to _the_ plan?

The things that are meant to take place _will_ take place, it is simply inevitable. And yet... could it still be _broken_?

Chapter Two

1190, Damascus, Syria

"Ow! Careful, Sarah!" Farah whined as the female servant treated the bruise on her jaw. Her father avoided hitting her face, fearing that if he disfigured her, Edwardo would not longer desire her. But sometimes he just couldn't help himself.

"I'm sincerely sorry, my Lady," Sarah apologized in her Arabic accent. Sometimes, Sarah aided her with her Arabic and, thus, Farah mumbled out a, "It's okay. Just do your job and ignore my cries of pain."

Sarah smiled, patting Farah's swollen jaw with a warm, wet cloth. To Farah's right, Dania, her cat, yawned and began purring. She smiled. This little bastard was so lucky.

"Did you enjoy yourself today, my Lady?" she gently asked. Farah sighed at the memory. "It was magnificent, truly. The feeling of being free..." She shivered. "It's indescribable—but worth the fights and wounds."

Sarah nodded and silently gazed down. Farah frowned and gently clasped the younger female's cheek. Sarah was of eighteen years while Farah of twenty-one, hence the things that bothered Sarah affected Farah equally. "What is wrong, girl?"

Her servant sighed, pursed her lips, and glanced up at Farah. "Forgive me if I'm trespassing a personal topic here, my Lady, but... will you ever give in and marry Sir Edwardo de Pablo?"

Farah retreated her hand, earning an instant "I'm sorry!" from Sarah. She smiled, clasping her servant's hand with hers. "Never ever lower yourself to someone when you are worth more, Sarah." Her servant suddenly started sobbing, kissing Farah's hands.

"But... y-your father will beat y-"

"It's alright. As long as I'm standing up for what I believe in, the consequences can rot in Hell for all I care."

Sarah nodded, a pure tear skidding down her pink shaded cheeks. Her servant had auburn hair, green eyes, and a slightly tanned skin. Unlike her, Farah possessed an extremely long, black hair, big brown eyes, and creamy skin.

"That means you'll never marry sir Edwardo de Pablo?" She softly asked.

Farah smiled broadly. "Never."

"What the bloody hell!" her father's shocked voice rang from outside her room, instantly snapping the two females from their conversation, and caused them to yelp. Heavy footsteps strode past her closed door, meaning her father's business was not with her. At that, she gradually relaxed.

"He was ambushed?" her father all but yelled at the—most probably—informant.

"Yes, sir. By an..." the voice slightly hesitated before answering. "An Assassin."

Assassin?

"Assassin?" her father suddenly croaked out in the dead silence, the fear evident in his tone. Farah slightly straightened. "How? Did Edwardo, dare I ask, survive?"

"We still do not know how but that the assassin had annihilated all the guards. And, yes, Edwardo walked away from the battlefield unharmed."

The disappointment in Farah was heavy. Why did Edwardo have to survive out of all? Fate was truly cruel sometimes.

"Well, why didn't you say so! My friend lives!" Her father thickly laughed. Their murmurs decreased in volume as they stomped further away from her chamber. She looked at Sarah, who was still staring at the door, and frowned. "He just had to survive, didn't he?"

"Did you hear that, my Lady?" Sarah was suddenly in her face, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper.

"Yes, I did. That bastard survived."

"No, not that." Sarah waved Farah's words away.

"The assassin." She let out in an awed whisper.

Farah frowned, and pursed her lips. "Okay...?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "The men in the mountains?" She asked in an obvious tone. Farah merely arched a brow at her. "Come again?"

"The angels in white cloaks?" Sarah pressed further. Farah slowly shook her head. Then, her servant gasped. "Oh, Lord. You really don't know?"

"Know what?" Farah instantly asked, her brain eager to learn all about these 'men in the mountains'.

"There's a rumour that has been going on around the city for couple of months now about some sort of secret organization. People don't have much proof of their existence, some think they don't even exist, but we believe they're real. Well, now I do."

"What are you talking about?" Farah questioned, her stomach suddenly churning.

Sarah nibbled on her lower lip. "These... men, assassins, they rarely come out. Oh, I don't even know when they come out, I just know that when the city bells give a loud ring,_ they _have been here. In the city. Anyways, when these men are known to be in the city, every nefarious criminal goes into hiding."

"Why? Are they that great?"

At that, Sarah snorted. "Great? They're invincible, or that's what I heard. Anyways," she waved her hand through the air. "I'll tell you the scary part. You'll never see them coming. They are one with the shadows and move with the wind. So, if they want you dead—you're dead."

Farah fell into silence. Then, "How did Edwardo survive then?" she asked. Sarah shrugged. "Maybe his target was another man, who knows? Innocents don't die at the hands of the assassins, it is only the political leaders. That is how I see it. Besides, what gain would it come from killing innocents?"

Farah rose her eyebrows in evident surprise. "Wow," she exhaled. "Political leaders, huh? Edwardo is one and he is the vilest man to ever breathe the air of this planet, so...?"

Sarah sighed. "I don't know. Perhaps he wasn't on their kill-list?"

"Kill-list? How do they even know whom to kill? To know the backgrounds of these infamous men would require you to be a politician as well. You need to have connections." Farah found herself wanting more answers. The sudden brief image of a white cloaked man sitting beside her flashed though her mind, but she quickly dismissed it, focusing on Sarah.

"Well?" she prompted.

"Hmm," her servant tapped her chin. "Rumours have it they have some sort of a leader, I don't know. It is quite peculiar but they are devoted to that man and some cause. That is all I know from the rumours. We believe them to be fictional, so. Yeah. I seriously don't have a clue."

"And yet you dig for more. Why, if I may ask?" Farah tilted her head to the side, examining her servant. Sarah smiled shyly, shrugged, and looked away.

Farah understood. Private. She nodded. "What is their cause?"

Sarah shrugged once more. "Whatever it is, all the leaders, at some point, will learn of them. And some not that prettily. They're feared and they're strong and everyone who comes face to face with one of those mysterious hooded men should definitely quiver in utter terror."

Farah frowned. "Why?"

Sarah eyed her intently, then, with her voice as flat as a wall, said, "Because I heard they even kill kings."

-x-

1190, Damascus, Syria

Hawk eyes suddenly snapped open, the wild pupils leisurely shrinking into a small dot. Releasing a burning breath out, Altair slowly rose from the spot he rested on. His muscles cried out in protest, making him grit his teeth in patience. His head hammered on, and his heart beat loudly in his ears.

He was eminent he hadn't consumed any alcohol the previous night, and especially not on a mission, then why was—

Realization dawned, and he sprung up to his feet, grabbing his dagger. Only problem: he grabbed thin air.

Whipping around, he studied his surroundings. Book shelves, Persian carpets, a counter, and the soft tinkling sound of water hitting marble. He was in the Assassins Bureau. The last thing Altair recalled was dropping flat out on the ground. Yet, when he ransacked his brain for memories, he remembered getting up and weakly walking to a place his conscious knew of. Had he come here in that trembling state?

His cheeks heated and he cursed under his breath. Such embarrassment. Such disgrace. He had lost to his enemy, had fallen before his very eyes, and now presented the similar weakness to his comrades?

Never again, he vowed.

With a grunt, he sat right back down, and realized he was completely nude except for the bandage wrapped around his chest and shoulder. He covered his lower body with a Persian blanket, and gently rubbed at his wound.

It hissed and whined out in protest, but Altair paid it no heed. He flexed his solid back, grunted, then gave his injured shoulder numerous rolls. Perfect. He could start haunting down Edwardo now. Only problem: his clothes were nowhere to be seen.

What irritated him the most was the absence of his precious weapons. As assassin never existed without his blades, and Altair was not one to wander around weapon less—not even in his sleep.

"Rafiq!" he called out, irritation lacing his voice. He smelled herbs and medicine. After a heartbeat, Rafiq appeared before an outlet, his arms crossed against his chest.

"You aren't leaving, Altair. You must rest, the poison still runs in your system."

Altair nearly scoffed. "I thank you for your hospitality, brother. But I have not come here to rest. Where are my belongings?"

Rafiq sighed. "You showed up on my doorstep three night ago, Altair. I think it is wise if you'll heed to my requests now." Three night ago? Word must've spread about him already, and Altair could not risk the welfare of the Brotherhood nor let Edwardo walk around as a freeman.

He should, would, end his life. Perhaps today even, and save himself from further humiliation.

"My clothes, Rafiq." Altair growled darkly.

They had a staring contest for a whole three minutes before, finally, Rafiq sighed, slightly shaking his head. "I'll let you be stubborn for now, Altair. But mark my words when I tell you to be cautious of your actions tonight. The poison has travelled close to your heart, and if you overuse your energy, it will attack without warning."

Altair nodded in understanding. Damn Templars.

Rafiq disappeared behind the outlet and returned a few seconds later with Altair's belongings. "I retreated back your weapons from the battlefield. You can thank me later by buying me more Persian garments."

Silent, Altair took hold of his possessions and put them on. The room was filled with shuffles and clicks. Once every weapon was clasped tightly around his body, only then did Altair allow his muscles to relax. Without his armoury, he always felt uncomfortable, almost empty, and loathed walking without it—for he grew up in it.

Clenching and unclenching his firm hands, Altair gave his shoulders a roll back and cracked his neck. Nodding his gratitude to Rafiq, he strode out of the outlet and into the room with the small fountain.

Concentrating his energy on his legs, Altair, with a flexed jump, leapt up to the roof. He thought he heard Rafiq mutter a, "So much for not overusing energy," but dismissed it and run full-speed below the night's pouring rain.

-x-

1190, Damascus, Syria

The slap of bare feet against the muddy ground echoed throughout the cold night as the figure made her desperate escape. Turning to a corner, and nearly slipping while doing so, Farah leaned against a wall. Inhaling deeply, the air scratching past her sore throat, she once again bolted into action.

The rain poured on hard, causing her red dress to stick to her body like second skin. A mewling sound came from between her arms, and she hugged the small figure close to her chest.

Dania released another mewl out.

Farah had found Dania when she had first migrated to Damascus, and she had been the smallest thing ever, completely weak and fragile. After taking her in, she grew up to be meaty and strong, her voice loud enough to be heard from miles away.

"Shhh... Mother Farah will take great care of you." Dania struggled in her arms, no doubt trying to escape the pouring rain. She had wrapped her cat in a blanket, but it was almost already soaked wet, dampening Dania's fur. The little brat still struggled, leaving Farah no choice but to squeeze her fat body against her own.

Farah knew they had to find a good hiding spot or else it will all be over—they will find her. With her body trembling, teeth chattering, and legs moving, Farah turned to the right and entered an alleyway. she leaned against the wet wall in obvious exhaustion.

Her father had made a choice—a choice that was Farah's to make, just to be clear—and said that if she yet again refused, the pleasures of this world would be denied for her. Like it wasn't already.

Farah suddenly sighed loudly, really close to the edge of finally releasing the held back tears.

This time her father had ventured too far. Before, the option of marrying Edwardo was up to her to decide, and her father would of course _encourage_ the right answer from her lips so as to get his share from de Pablo's wealth.

But, now, knowing that Farah would not easily cave in, he had decided it himself. He concluded that she _will _marry Edwardo, whether her answer was a yes or a no.

And that was the sole reason why she was here, shivering and panting to death just to avoid marrying that bastard. After realizing that Edwardo nearly died by the hands of an assassin, Farah apparently should not wait any longer. And, thus, her father single-handedly wrecked her life.

But Sarah, who had overheard their _conversation_, had helped Farah escape her fated future. She had planned—and made sure—that Farah would not be stopped or spotted when she fled the palace grounds at midnight.

And now she run for her life.

What still tugged at Farah's chest was the fact that Sarah could pay for this crime with her head if they ever found out she was involved. But when she voiced her worry, Sarah had just smiled, saying it was worth it.

Her respect for Sarah grew by each passing second.

But, unfortunately, the word of her escape had reached her father, and now she had around eight guards at her tail, all eager to hunt her down like a dog and bring her forth to her father.

How? Who told him?

Breathing in deeply to keep the heat within her body running, Farah hastily glanced around. The alleyway was a decent size, and a few boxes lined up in one corner. Ignoring them, she focused on the half wall that rose before her, the cement separating the alley from the property of another civilian's home. It appeared climbable.

She could prop herself up on the roof and avoid being spotted. She could do it. Making up her mind, Farah prepared to bolt into action.

Tying the cloth that held Dania close tightly around her shoulder and waist, Farah made a run for it. With a powerful jump, she clasped the edge of wall and urgently tried to pull herself up.

Tried—but failed. Miserably.

Her hands slipped due to the rain, causing them to scratch against the rough surface of the wall, and her body fell to ground in a painful thwack!

Huffing and shivering, she rose back to her feet and tried again. And again. And failed.

"C-Come on, Come o-on." She violently trembled, her limbs shaking. The base of her shoes had torn in the chase, hence her feet were numbed due to the brutality of the weather. Her dark hair was dripping wet, and it stuck to her revealed cheeks and neck, causing her skin to slightly itch.

Hugging Dania close and making sure she wouldn't slam against the wall when Farah jumped, she bolted into action and confidently jumped high—only to kiss the ground rather too passionately.

Groaning, Farah once again stood up and rubbed her aching back. Her skin had gone so numb and solid cold, with the harsh wind mercilessly whipping against her exposed skin, she no longer could feel anything. And if she did, it hurt her more than it possibly should have.

Suddenly, reverberating with the thundering rain, the numerous splash of boots against the wet Earth echoed into the night—and they sounded awfully close.

Breath hitched in her throat; Farah stood frozen for a few seconds. Then, she ran to the wall and desperately tried to climb it. She earned a few more scratches on her body, and helplessly slipped down onto the ground.

No, she thought panicked. No, please. Don't let them see me, don't let them see me, don't let me freaking see me. She would not let Sarah's efforts go to waste, no. She would fight. And climb. But mainly fight and stay her ground.

Knowing that they'd easily spot her if she run out of the alleyway, Farah knew her only hope was to go over the wall. She turned on her heels and once more tried to climb that bastard.

How ironic when she always thought there was an invisible wall standing between her and freedom, there was an actual wall standing between her and freedom. Great. Just perfect.

"Hey! Over here! I see her!" a male voice suddenly broke out from the mouth of the alleyway, provoking Farah's stomach to suddenly yelp up to her throat. Her blood chilled and her body froze. Surely she had... imagined it, right?

"Over here, come on!"

Or not.

Panicking, Farah scrambled up the wall, her actions similar to one of a frightened cat. Footsteps resounded, and all stubbornly marched towards her direction. Their stomps echoed loudly in her ears, more provoking than the dark weather.

"Lady Farah," a male voice uttered her name. She instantly recognized it. Jamil.

Whipping her head back, she stared at him through wide, brown eyes.

"Jamil," she croaked out in relief. Surely he'd understand, right?

Eyeing him through the pouring rain, Farah made out his... grinning face, she realized in sudden fright. He presented the image of a true hungry man. For what, Farah didn't dare guess.

"We have, at last, found you." Jamil chuckled darkly, rain dripping over his face. Farah gulped.

"I'm n-not going back," she gritted out.

"Sure you aren't."

Farah shut her eyes in patience. "I'm Lady Farah and I order you to take your leave. Now." When she reopened her eyes, she found Jamil arching a brow up at her.

"You do recall that we serve your father and not you, right?"

Farah pursed her lips. Worth the try.

"Come here," he nearly snarled as he grabbed her forearm. Farah immediately released a frenzied scream out. Then, "Jamil, please! Don't make me go back to him, I beg of you! He'll... God, Jamil. Please," Farah softly cried out.

"He promised as a bounty, and I intent to collect it."

Farah stared up at him in utter disbelief, her mouth gaping open. Money. He wished to exchange her life for money. Why that...

"Is that what you desire? Money?" She spat out. "I have rich relatives, if you let me go, I'll ask one of them to pay you a great amount."

Jamil chuckled, then shook his head. "Nobody pays better than your old man, Lady Farah." True. Her father was a rich politician—and he wanted to be richer—who could buy the land of Damascus if he desired to. He was a monster.

"No!" She aggressively shouted. "I will not go back, I'd rather die!"

"And you probably will. Once you go back." Jamil tugged her forth, provoking her bare feet to scratch against the rugged ground. Farah winced.

"Let me go!" She protested, trying to wiggle her way out of his right clasp. "Let me go I said! Jamil, now!" Farah scratched at his arm, causing him to growl in frustration. "Or I swear I'll harm you."

At that, Jamil laughed out loud. "Aha," he nodded. She narrowed her eyes.

"Those times when you were kind to me, allowing me to pass the gates with no question whatsoever, what h-happened to that J-Jamil, huh?"

"He never existed. I only did those acts so you and I could," he flicked his tongue out and wiggled it. Realization dawned, and Farah paled. Her eyes widened a fraction in disbelief. The kind, cheeky Jamil had wanted to... she gagged, not even trying to conceal her evident disgust.

"You're s-sick," she gritted out.

"Nay, I'm not. Your father is." He leaned closer to her form, and whispered horrendous words into her ear. "And so is your future husband."

Farah gasped, then literally began to fully panic. "No, no, no! Release me, you bastard! Somebody help," she screamed, her voice piercing through the pounding rain. "I will not go back! I will never go back! I refuse to marry Edwardo!"

"Shut up!" Jamil shouted, dragging her flailing body forth.

"Help!" She cried out yet again, praying someone would.

No one did.

"Nobody will," Jamil fiercely whispered out, provoking Farah to stifle her cry of despair. He was right.

No one would... she was to go back... was to be beaten, punished. She was to marry Edwardo and love a long, abusing life. Every breath she'd take would be a curse, a poison. Then, she'd have to tolerate Edwardo's harassments, and go back to bed feeling dirty... worthless. Dead.

No, no, no, Farah thought next. She would never allow herself to drop that low.

In that instant, Farah released the loudest scream in her life, the sound thundering louder than the pouring rain.

"Shut your trap!" Jamil roared out in annoyance.

"Make me, you hypocrite!" Farah evenly retorted.

At her words, Jamil stiffened. Then, he fully faced her, his grip on her forearm no doubt forming bruises. "Ow, ow, stop it. Jamil, you're hurting me," she hoarsely whispered out. Jamil didn't seem to care.

"You dare call me a hypocrite?" He hissed out at her face. Farah slowly shrank lower as his face inched her way. "You? The worthless tramp?"

She narrowed her eyes, but still retreated away from his form.

"I'll show you the errors of your way," he hoarsely made out, his suddenly heated gaze dropping low to her lips. Understanding dawned, and Farah whimpered. "Oh, I'll show you..."

Horrified, she refused to give in and attempted to pull away. "Jamil," she warned. His face inched closer. Why weren't the other guards stopping him? Why wasn't anyone aiding her? Suddenly, Farah felt completely alone. Abandoned. She was a nobody, and would always remain as such, she guessed.

Lonely, the voice echoed inside her head, causing her chin to tremble—but not from the cold. She was all alone in this. Unworthy of love, care and adoration. At those thoughts, Farah's inner walls started to crumble down and her chest constricted with aching, agonizing sensations.

She was tired of always being strong. She was tired of always crying herself to sleep. She was tired of the unjust treatment she received in return for her forgiveness and patience. God dammit, she was tired of it _all_. They ate and spat her out, and now she felt worn out. Exhausted.

When will it ever end? When will she _die_?

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and her sobs increased, shaking her shoulders as they did.

"Yes," Jamil whispered in content. "Cry for me, little Farah."

Disgusting.

He was disgusting. Her father was disgusting. Bastard Edwardo was disgusting. Everyone is, she nearly cried out.

Helpless, Farah still tried to push Jamil away.

"Stop," she whispered, angling her face away. He didn't. He leaned in closer. Suddenly feeling fury spike, Farah shot her knee up and aimed his groin. "I said stop!"

Jamil released an abrupt howl and toppled over, grabbing his middle. Only then did Farah realize what she had done. Gasping, she covered her mouth in shock.

"Y-You!" Jamil shouted in fury.

"I'm sorry." Farah lamely retorted.

"I'll show you sorry, you brat!" Jamil instantly straightened, and stomped her way. Farah abruptly retreated.

"Jamil..." she let out cautiously. His face was red with anger—and pain.

"Jamil!" Farah shouted, stretching her palms up before her body to keep him at bay. It didn't work. He took hold of her wrist and brutally tugged her forth. Farah sharply gasped, accidently swallowing some of the rain water.

"I'll show you!" he snarled, raising his hand high in the air—as if to smack her.

"Jamil!" Farah cried out in alarm, coughing.

Her wide eyes caught his hand whipping forth, in attempts to aim the soft skin of her cheek, and she hastily closed her eyes in cowardice.

A _whoop_ cut through the rain, causing a brief echo to drift to her ears.

She waited for the hard line of his palm to slam against her skin, waited for the aching sting but... it never came. Brows furrowing, Farah leisurely cracked her lids open, once again being greeted by the outside world.

The fierce pound of the rain against roofs, buildings and streets greeted her senses like a drumming song. Thunder crackled in the sky, causing Farah to focus her attention on the figure before her.

As the cold wind slapped at her fragile skin, Farah knew there was something odd at the way Jamil stood frozen before her, his hand still high in the air.

Confused, she gazed up at his face, and noticed the way his features were constricted in an agonized manner. His lips gradually parted and a stream of crimson flowed out.

Farah's eyes widened in shock, and her hitched breath burned her throat. "Ja..." she started, watching how his armoured body slowly leaned towards her and fell on the ground almost lifelessly. "...Mil?"

That was when she spotted a blade slammed into his spine, the hilt designed as a feather. What... the...

Silence had befallen all; the only thing reverberating was the everyone's raspy breathing. Farah instantly stepped away from Jamil's dead body, and did her best not to start screaming like a psycho. Again.

All the guards unsheathed their steel swords out and, frantically, scanned the area. Holding Dania extremely close as some sort of comfort, she leisurely began walking back. A sudden shiver run up the length of her spine—and it was not because of the cold.

Something was out there. Something dangerous.

She knew it. Sensed it.

_Run! _

Her inner voice shouted. Now's your chance, escape!

Dumbly, Farah stood rooted in place like a statue, her legs not for her to command. With her lungs frozen, she started eyeing the dark alleyway for the cause of Jamil's death.

And that was when she spotted a quick flash of white. Blinking, Farah eyed the spot again, but found nothing. Sudden thunder crackled in the sky, and that is when she heard the scream of a man, his voice rumbling in sync with the ferocious black clouds.

A body in the far corner fell to the ground, and everyone whipped around in their places to face it. Utterly horrified, Farah watched the rain slap the face of the dead guard, and instantly stole a few steps back. Oh, God...

While all were distracted, another body suddenly slammed against the cold ground. Farah yelped. All the guards tightened their hold on their swords and awaited for the appearance of the unknown killer.

For once, Farah didn't mind the men guarding her. Weren't they?

"Everybody, hold your ground and keep extreme watch. It's out there." One of them informed. They all nodded.

Then she saw it. Again.

From the corner of her eye, Farah spotted that similar flash of white. Her gaze instantly snapped to that spot—but found nothing.

A pained filled howl erupted in the night, but as soon as it was heard, it was gone. The body of the guard fell to its death. Farah covered her mouth in evident horror.

"Show yourself, coward!" One of the four remaining guards shouted. There was a quick whiz in the air, and Farah found herself staring at a man with an open throat.

The glimmering blade that cut through the guards throat seemed to be also aimed at the other. The steel whizzed thought the rain and aimed the oblivious guard straight in the chest, the force of it causing the man to topple back. Then, as slowly as one can be, he fell to his knees and then face. Just like that. Dead.

Having a difficult time breathing, Farah twirled around in her place to find the killer. By God, she refused to die here, now, in an alleyway. She breathed through her open mouth, the raindrops wetting her lips. Through her spiked lashes, she searched for the murderer up on the roofs.

The sudden clank of metal against metal resounded, and Farah slowly found herself turning around. Two guards faced away from her, their bodies touching at the shoulders. Had they... done it? Did they get the killer?

Hope ignited in her chest, but instantly died away.

No, no. This can't be happening. This couldn't be real. But it was...

The two bodies gradually began to fall backwards, their swords dropping to the muddy ground.

Farah's entire being froze, and the rain mercilessly beat against her figure. But that wasn't the problem, no. Her eyes saw past the pouring rain and behind the bodies of the falling guards.

Inch after dangerous inch, the white figure appeared before her very eyes. _His_ hooded face was angled downwards, as if he was watching the light leave the eyes of his enemies, and leisurely rose to meet hers. He calmly tossed the bodies to the ground.

Retreating back his sword out of the guards belly, he gave it an abrupt whip through the air, sending the droplets of blood splashing to the ground. The rain washed his weapon clean, removing all traces of felony and purified it, readying the sharp steel for another slaughter.

Her life.

That was when Farah heard the cries of her inner voice, heard it yell from the depths of her conscious. It increased in volume, finally allowing her senses to start working past her bodies frozen state.

The white cloaked man calmly began striding her direction, briefly wiggling the sword in his hand.

Farah finally heard the word her inner voice was shouting at her, and quivered in sudden alarm.

_Run_, it was saying.

**Run**_**. **_

-x-

_So how was it? :D Let me know in the reviews! Thanks :) _


	3. Chapter 3

_**AN: **__Thank you for the review you guys! :) _

_Here, have a bite. _

What We Can't Have

_Order. _

Everything is in order, from the grandness of the Universe to the complexity of the cells. Nothing could break their built structure, it just goes according to an already written plan.

So what if I told you what everything strived for could be breakable? For example, Fate. Could one perhaps make a mistake that could alter its direction, the conclusion of what was to happen? Could one even dare to _try_?

How could one possibly perform such an act? And if one, dare I say, does alter the direction of which Fate has chosen for us, does it still mean it is going _according_ to _the_ plan?

The things that are meant to take place _will_ take place, it is simply inevitable. And yet... could it still be _broken_?

Chapter Three

1190, Damascus, Syria

Freezing rain pounded on the lone two standing figures, its hard drops splattering on the muddy ground and forming sprinkles of mist.

Farah watched the hazardous man inch his way towards her, and felt as though she could not glance away. Feared that if she might, her head would be rolling across the filth of the ground. But get away from him was a must.

Swallowing hard, Farah abruptly turned on her heels and ran towards the wall. With all her might and strength, she jumped, her aching palms slamming against the surface of the wall to heft herself up.

To hell with being careful. If it meant losing a leg to escape him, she'd gladly sacrifice it herself.

_Have to get away_, she thought near hysteria. He seemed—seemed? Ha!—far more dangerous than even her beastly father. And that was saying something. Her father was like the spawn of Lucifer.

"H-Have to get away," she unknowingly chattered out loud. Her body hanging rather awkwardly from the wall, she attempted her best to pull herself further up the wet surface, and tried to avoid squashing Dania to a pulp. The rain poured on, soaking her to her very bones.

Farah was worried for her body, really. She couldn't feel her numb toes or fingers.

Suddenly, the splash of boots against the small puddles of rain echoed from behind her, causing her heart to yelp up to her throat. Farah froze, and attempted to toss a quick glance over her shoulder but to no avail. Craning her neck to the side would request she let go of the wall she so dearly hung onto.

The boots stomped closer, every step spiking the flames of her panic. She pressed her lips together to stop a frightened scream from escaping. Helplessly dangling mid-air, and emitting awkward noises in her attempts to climb, Farah warily felt her grip on the wall weaken, and witnessed her body slowly slide down.

No._ Nooo_!

He urged nearer, too close this time. He was stationed right behind her, she felt his overpowering presence.

"Stop, d-don't come any closer." She warned weakly.

He was going to kill her, she just knew it. He would cut her throat or stab her in the back, maybe even—

Farah froze cold in her musings when she felt firm fingers enclose around her waist, the electrifying heat of them even travelling past her drenched clothes and into the depths of her frozen skin.

Was he going to twist her hips and dislocate the bones so she could never walk again? Wait, was that even possible?

But then the stranger did the unthinkable, shocking the perfect sense out of her. As she witnessed her dangling body slightly rise, Farah realized that he was not attempting to kill her but rather... _helping her climb? _

Brows furrowing, she felt her body lift higher as if weightless. She tossed a few confused glances back but, just like the previous ones, these were also to no avail. She only made out the strong round of his white-cloaked shoulder.

When her abdomen made contact with the flat surface of the wall, Farah quickly scrambled away from his touch.

She couldn't deny her body as it commanded she deeply inhale. Coughing, Farah covered her mouth with her hand. Then, she deeply began breathing in and out, trying to get back the breaths she had lost.

The white-cloaked man swiftly jumped up on the wall without the effort of even touching it. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly looked away, holding Dania close.

After a few heartbeats of somewhat awkward silence—the sound of falling rain the only sound heard—Farah gave up, and glanced up at his form.

He was standing tall, albeit his shoulders were slightly drawn forward, as though he carried the weight of the world on them, and his face was shadowed by the hood he wore.

Recognition suddenly slapped her right in the senses—hard. Wait a minute, she thought through her widening eyes. He was the man she saw in the Souk a week (or so) ago! Her eyes enlarged another fraction.

"Oh my God," she whispered, eyes never leaving his armed body. "It's... you."

He angled his head an inch down and said, "Selam," his fingers performing a gentle wave before his figure.

"What?" Farah blurted out, not really understanding him. Then, realization dawned, and she found herself wanting to smile despite the current situation she was in.

He was returning the greeting she had given him at the Souk.

Her eyes faltered slightly, unexpectedly spotting the dead guards. All amusement instantly died away as a wave of horror washed over her. She gulped, feeling bile rise in her throat.

"Y...You killed th-them."

"Yes." He didn't seem to hesitate in his answer. Farah didn't know if she should thank him or fear him. As if reading her thoughts, the white-cloaked man angled his head to the side.

"You needn't fear me, I mean you no harm."

"Right." Farah snorted, then stilled, pursing her lips.

"Why did you... kill them?" She asked with sudden dread.

"Would you rather I haven't?" He questioned instead. Farah frowned, not quite comprehending. "You could not have slaughtered them f-for me. You barely even k-know... me."

She arched a shaped black brow. "How did y-you even..."

Farah swallowed. How had he known where she was? Who was he? Did he follow her from the Souk? What did he want? What does he want?

"Your inhuman screams were hard to ignore," he plainly stated.

Or that.

Farah instantly blushed, then shook the shamed feeling away. Uneasily clearing her throat, she made out a, "Thank... you."

The cold wind and the harsh spikes of raindrops whipped against her flesh like a lash. She quivered, her limbs shaking. "What is your name?" she found herself asking. The man gave his shoulders a roll back, the action causing his chest to puff out and the cloak to hug his muscular form.

Suddenly realizing where her eyes were concentrating, she hastily glanced away.

"Well?" she prompted when he offered nothing but silence. Because his features were shadowed, she could not make out the expression he was wearing.

"None of your business." Was the clipped retort. She arched a brow.

"I hardly doubt that is your name," Farah scoffed softly. The male—oh, None of your Business, she corrected—stepped forward. Suddenly alarmed, she abruptly rose to shaky legs and nearly fell off the wall.

The sudden realization of her wasting her time came to her senses, and she cleared her throat. Her escape, yes. She had to get to the matter in hand.

"W-Well, I better leave now..." she murmured uneasily.

"You aren't departing anywhere," the man sternly said.

"Excuse me?" She frowned. "Why? What d-do you want?"

"Your devoted cooperation."

"Huh?"

The man sighed, reaching forward. He instantly stalled when he spotted the bump of Dania's covered body, and stared at it long in silence.

Then, "What is that?" he questioned. Farah patted the cloth and smiled.

"My baby," she said, giving it a cradle. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?" She puckered her lips in a kiss, and spoke to Dania in a mushy, childish tone.

The man seemed to pause whatever he was about to perform, and stared at her in peculiar silence. Ignoring him, Farah hugged her cat close, saying, "her name is Dania."

The man slightly tilted his chin up in acknowledgement, but that was it. No 'aaw's' or compliments. Although his response was blunt, it... didn't surprise her. He looked like a man of few words.

"So," she said, eyeing him and unexpectedly realizing he was a head taller than her. That was not intimidating her at all. Nope. "Why do you desire my cooperation?"

"Your fiancé, Edwardo de Pablo, I wish to put an end to his nefarious deeds."

Farah gritted her teeth in sudden anger, the hot feeling briefly chasing away the brutal cold. "He's not my fiancé!" She retorted. "And how do you know of him, anyways?"

"How I know of him is the least of your problems," None of Your Business stated. "Do I have your allegiance?"

Farah stared up at him in silence, cradling Dania and thinking it through. Edwardo to be put down once and for all... such a tempting offer, she nearly grinned. It mattered not how this male knew of Edwardo, or why he wanted the monster gone, no. The only thing that registered in Farah's mind was the finality of de Palo's life, thus the end of her engaged marriage. Thus her... freedom.

Freedom.

She'd be free afterwards. Farah didn't have to think twice about her answer. But, "If I refuse?" she found herself asking instead.

The man instantly whipped out a sharp blade from behind his wrist, the metal gleaming at her in the pouring rain. Farah gulped.

"I have done you justice by freeing you and your child from harms way. But doubt me not when I state that if you are not willing to aid me, I will kill you. I dislike wasting precious time, hence I'll mercifully ask you again: will you or will you not aid me?"

All Farah could think of at the moment was his voice. That deep, rich accented voice. Every word was clipped and aided by his stubbornness, Farah could only nod and stare up at him as he spoke with unrivalled authority.

But nevertheless, he sounded sincere in his warning.

"Female." His hard tone snapped Farah out of her musings, and she found herself blinking.

"Oh. Yeah." She nodded. "Yes, you have my devoted cooperation, None of your Business." She wanted that monster gone as much as he—if not more.

The man formed a low scoff at her words, and turned on his heels. Farah stiffened. "W-Where are you going?" She asked in rising panic, walking over to him. Her foot suddenly slipped, provoking her knees to slam down against the ragged surface of the wall. She softly cried out.

"Listen, I-I-I thank you for all y-you have done. Honest. Please don't l-leave me, I swear I'll help. Just," she attempted to rise to her feet. "Please."

Farah feared greatly that if the man abandoned her here, alone, her father would send more men to capture her, and all her chances at freedom would diminish. She would certainly have none of that.

He offered her no response as he kept on striding away across the length of the wall.

"Are y-you leaving me?" she croaked out behind his walking form.

"Follow my steps," was the blunt reply. Farah straightened to her full height, trying to balance herself on the narrow line of the wall. Gradually placing one bare foot after the other, she made her way to the male in a weak manner. But, before she reached him, her numb foot stepped on a sharp, angular bump, causing her contained balance to waver.

Farah yelped. The impulse of it caused her to lean towards the low ground, her feet no longer in contact with the flat surface of the wall. Horror swept over her, and she swore she felt her heart skip two beats.

"Oh my God!" she let out in the midst of her fall to the ground.

Before her body completely left the area of the wall, a strong arm abruptly latched onto her forearm, catching Farah mid-air. Almost instantly she found her footing, and hastily rooted her feet on the flat surface.

Leisurely, the male pulled her body closer, causing Farah to grab onto the hem of his cloak, supporting herself and, in the process, dragging him closer to her form. "Please don't let go," she mumbled out a plea.

When she finally regained her balance, her fingers still gripping his collar tightly, Farah released a sigh of utter relief. "Thank you." She smiled.

The thunderous rain pounded above them, and that was when Farah noticed how near their bodies actually stood. Her chest meshed against the hard line of his armoury as the handle of his sword dug into her side.

But most of all, she evidently felt the heat his body radiated, and suddenly desired more of it. It caressed her skin like delicious, toasty flames, seeping hot warmth into her cold body. Farah unknowingly purred, vaguely edging closer to steal more of that male heat.

The man instantly stepped back, out of her reach, and it took all of Farah's self control to not shout at him.

"Watch your step." With that, the man stretched and grabbed the parapet of the roof. Farah once again became vulnerable to the cold, and instantly followed the white-cloaked man.

"W-What are you doing?" She asked, examining his moves. He started climbing upwards rather too fast.

"We will travel atop roofs," he said without glancing back.

"Why?" Farah frowned, confused. The man growled. "For you are under my mercy, woman, I suggest you cease the irritable questions."

Farah huffed. "Whatever you say, None of your Business." She heard him emit a displeased grunt at her words.

"That wasn't a question," Farah immediately reminded him. The man stationed himself stably on the roof above her and glanced down, silently ordering her to follow example. She parted her lips to protest, say that she was a lady and civilized, but instead chose to obey. It was for the best, after all.

And wasn't she thinking of doing that before the guards caught her, anyways?

You can do this, she encouraged herself. Even when you have never climbed the roofs and could possibly fall to your death, you can do this. Okay, alright.

Clapping her hands together, Farah stretched up, placed her bare foot on a misplaced wooden plank, and rose. At the slippery wetness under her feet, her throat instantly tightened, and she found herself retreating back to the flat surface of the wall.

"What are you doing?" He patiently questioned.

"I-I can't do it." She shivered, looking up at him.

"You can and will. Now climb."

"I'm scared," she admitted.

"I care not. Climb."

Farah huffed, then crossed her arms against her chest. "I can die, you know?"

"It is only seven feet high." The man provided in obvious withering patience.

"Exactly!" Farah reasoned. "Unlike you, Mr. I-Can-Climb-Roofs, I like my bones where they are."

"You will hardly break a bone from this distance." The man scoffed.

"Well, then, you are clearly underestimating my weakness," Farah gritted out.

The male sighed, then, grudgingly, extended a hand down. "I shall aid you from half the way."

"Shall?" Farah repeated, slowly climbing up and reaching for his hand. "You will."

"Is that an order I hear from you, female?" He withdrew his hand. Farah had already climbed three feet up, and panicked when she couldn't see his promised help. "No! No, it was a plea. Now stretch it back down," she gritted out. "Please?" She softly added.

He drew it back down and, after a few sloppy climbs, she grabbed his waiting hand and felt her body being pulled up.

"Just because I aid you does not mean you can relax," he let out. "Now climb before I decide to drop you."

Farah gasped, glancing up. "You wouldn't dare..."

Behind his hooded face, she thought she spotted his lips twitch, but ignored it, knowing she had surely imagined it.

"Don't tempt me," was all he offered. Why the nerve of that man! Farah thought, and climbed the rest of the way up.

"You would drop a woman with child?" she asked when she arrived at her destination, standing up on the parapet and staring down at him.

"Yes." He plainly retorted, turning away from her.

"Hey!" Farah called out, but he ignored her. _Why that... _

She jumped down and jogged up to him. "Where are we headed?" she asked in a raspy tone. At her words, he halted, stared down at her, and briefly nodded.

In the next heartbeat, her vision went suddenly dark, and Farah found herself shut out of the outside word. "What is happening? Wait, I can't see. I can't see!" She panicked. Has she... lost her vision? Was her numb body backfiring? How would she see his luring shadowed face now?

Wait, that was not the point. How would she read the poetries she so dearly loved now? That was more like it. Oh, God.

"N-None of your Business?" She chattered out, twirling around. Strong fingers wrapped around her shoulders, stopping her.

"I have simply blindfolded you," resounded his accented tone. Farah slightly allowed herself to calm down. Her vision had not been lost, she sighed in relief. Has her face gone so numb to the point where she no longer could feel the cloth wrapped around her head? She gradually touched her cheeks and pinched. The sting was not felt until a few moments later. Damn.

"I'm c-cold," she hugged her middle, cradling Dania close. The man shifted and sudden warmth cloaked her shoulders and upper back. After a moment, she realized the heady warmth on her shoulders was his arm. Favour for a favour. Now, darkness in exchange for heat? What a sweetheart.

Content, Farah leaned closer, her attention focused on the heat he was releasing. She was in awe at how his body could generate even warmth at such a frosty night.

The man started pulling away from her form, but kept his arm resting on her shoulders. Farah nearly hissed. She wanted warmth! Like a moth, she was drawn to his light. "Don't you know t-that sharing is c-caring?"

The man snorted. "I care not, and surely do not share."

"Why did you even blindfold me?" she asked instead.

"To forbid you from analysing the area we are to set foot into."

"Are you kidding me?" Farah exclaimed, then groaned. "I'm practically new to the city, and would not be able to tell the difference between one street or the other if you were to make me go around it day and night."

"Are you really that incapable?" his voice sounded close to disbelief. Farah grinded her teeth together. Because he could—what—memorize his surroundings in one sitting? Remembering the fast fall of the guards, Farah didn't bother answering her question. Because, yes, he seemed like a man who could memorize the entire layout of Damascus in one sitting—if he hasn't already.

"Okay, I might've over-exaggerated my words in order to assure you that I mean no harm, but don't ever call me incapable! You do not know me enough to judge that abrupt."

Even from behind the cloth blinding her, Farah somehow knew that he had a brow arched at her. "I only said that because it is the only information you have provided me with your inane sentence."

"Whatever," Farah grumbled.

"What is your name?" He coolly asked. This time, Farah arched a delicate brow at him. "It is quite similar to yours," she said.

"Is that so?" he questioned in a flat voice. Farah continued anyways. "Yeah," she nodded. "But mine goes by Mind your own Business. Beautiful, no?"

"No." He plainly retorted.

Rolling her eyes at him from behind the cloth, Farah glanced away. He lead the way atop the uneven roofs, and showed her no mercy as he dragged her forth, not caring that she was barefoot, blindfolded and, not to mention, nearly freezing to an early death.

Even with his jerky moves—and commands, she rolled her eyes—Farah, surprisingly, kept up. At one point, he wrapped an arm around her waist and—here's the shocking part—_gently_ helped her descend down to a lower roof.

That was when Farah, once again, felt his sword dig into her side. She winced, pulling away.

"Your sword wishes to harm me even when sheathed," she muttered, rubbing her side. He offered her no reply, wisely choosing silence over her. Whatever. Grabbing the material of his white cloak, Farah straightened her position.

Her foot, the one she stepped that pointy bump with, throbbed in discomfort. And even then he showed no generosity!

"Are we there yet?" She asked for, like, the hundredth time.

"What did I warn you about these irritable questions?" He growled.

"What, are you going to harm me, assassin?" Farah chuckled. Then instantly clamped her lips shut, her breath hitching in her throat.

The male leisurely came to a slow halt, and the atmosphere around them dropped lower. Much deadlier. Pure dark silence befell them.

"Okay, wait!" She rushed out. Farah didn't know why she even said that. Okay, yes, Sarah had mentioned about white-cloaked men, and Farah had slipped out whatever was in the back of her mind. It was simply an innocent mistake!

In the pounding rain, she distantly made out the sound of a blade unsheathing. The sound taunted the blazing flames of her panic.

Strong fingers suddenly snapped at her forearm, surely bruising it, and harshly dragged her forth. Farah tripped several times, and even then he didn't slow down. She felt his anger spike at her harsher than the cold wind.

Farah was suddenly shoved forward, but this time, her feet skimmed over an edge. Her back was supported by nothing but thin, whizzing air, and when she tried to step back, her foot dropped low, meeting no solid end.

That was when she acknowledged the deadly situation she was in. That was also when the forgotten tears blurred her dim vision. Farah acutely and evidently admitted to the fact that her body was leaning mid-air and towards the unseen ground of the Holy City.

God, how she loathed heights.

"Please, stop, stop!" Farah frantically grabbed at his muscular arm that held her by the forearm with both of her hands. His body, his warmth, she couldn't feel nor sense it, and that provoked her panic to increase because that meant he was quite far and she quite close to tasting death.

She latched onto his arm as desperately close as she could.

"Tell me, enemy," he coolly said, his voice cold and distant, affecting her deeper than the thundering rain. Farah's bare feet slipped, causing her to cry out as her stomach leapt up to her throat. She barely caught herself by supporting her weight at the tip of her toes.

"I'm n-not your enemy," she weakly provided, breathing heavily.

"How do you know of the assassins?" He continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Take heed that I have a blade pointed to your throat and hold you at the edge of your worthless life. Answer honestly or you shall taste my wrath."

Like she wasn't already!

Farah swallowed, closing her wet eyes, and parted her lips to speak. Her life depended on the upcoming words, thus she mustered all the confidence she had left.

"I-I have heard of rumours about white-cloaked m-men," she refused to sell out Sarah. "People s-say you a-are one with the shadows and t-travel with the wind."

"I care not about what the people say," he growled, his grip on her forearm loosening.

"Okay, okay!" Farah rushed out. "M-My... father," she said, and didn't mind selling his out. Kind of. "He is c-close friends with Edwardo... you know, the man I'm engaged to?"

"I know who he is." The man gritted out.

"Yes, alright. That one," she nervously wet her lips. "My father was informed about Edwardo's group being ambushed by an... assassin. I overheard their conversation, but did not pay m-much heed until... now."

Yes, now Farah wholeheartedly believed Sarah's words. People should tremble and quiver in fear before these men because they were walking and breathing weapons, thus making them more lethal than anything in existence. Farah still could not believe she was being held by one! Just yesterday they were imaginary beings to her.

"I-I promise you," she shakily uttered. "I'm not an enemy. I only wish to escape my fated future with Edwardo, and I'll do everything in my power to achieve that." She desperately yearned for freedom, and she'd do everything and anything to taste it once more.

"I k-know it came out of nowhere, but you are cloaked in w-white, sport deadly weapons, and want to annihilate a corrupt leader, Edwardo. I-I just... I just thought," her chin trembled as hot tears once again blurred her vision. "Don't let g-go. Please. I w-will aid you, I promise. I'm a woman of my word. I sincerely ask of you," Farah softly whispered. "Don't let go..."

Dead silence greeted her ears, and Farah barely stopped herself from erupting into a frenzied being in distress.

Slowly, almost smoothly, Farah was tugged back into the embrace of the four edges of the roof. She almost kissed the ground in utter happiness. She straightened instead, hastily turning around to face the man she did not see. Aside her evident fear, she felt anger swell in her chest, causing her jaw to ache.

"Don't you e-ever do that m-me again," she weakly warned the assassin. Wherever he was. She heard him sheath back his dagger, and almost instantly sighed out in evident relief.

"What I order, you shall obey." He provided in his husky, accented tone. "Am I clear?"

"Yes. Crystal." She grumbled as she wiped the hot tears away from her cheeks. Damn this! Allowing no more to flow, she straightened to her full height, tilted her chin up in stubbornness, and said, "Before we start the mission, I want a hot, hot, _hooot_ bath. Deal?"

"You are in no state to spark a bargain, but I shall allow it."

"Good." Farah nodded, lifting her hand up. Even when he threatened to throw her off a roof, she waited for him to take hold of it and lead her.

"What?" He questioned.

"Grab my hand and lead the way, perhaps?" Farah arched a brow.

Firm fingers gradually clasped her hand, and tightened their hold. She heard him emit barely audible scoff. She almost smiled.

Wait, smiled? After he had—dare she mention again?—almost killed her? She really needed that bath, and nearly performed a happy dance at the mere thought of the hot, burning water washing over her cold form, its liquid pure and fresh.

"You drool, woman." The assassin provided with a frown to his voice.

"So?" She offered back. He ignored her and lead them to their destination in that jerky, merciless way of his—albeit this time he was rougher than before. Whatever, she thought. I just want to reach that bath.

But she still could not really comprehend the fact that she came face to face with one of the infamous Assassins Sarah was so fund of—and survived.

Farah could only hope she survived after their mission—even if she didn't know what would befall her afterwards.

**-x- **

_**AN:**__ Type your reviews in that cute little box below, and let me know what you think! :) Good day, readers. You keep me inspired. Really._


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